A Marne Mind: A Soldier's War with Recovery

By Cy Mulholland

Many who suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder do not realize what is going inside themselves. Unfortunately, those who return home from combat or who have experienced any other type of traumatic event remain in the battle, the war within. Could it be that PTSD is merely physiological symptoms related to trauma, or is it so much more than that? A Marne Mind explains the advantage of coping skills and the relationship among physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual ruin and well-being while constantly pointing to the greatest source of healing and recovery. Search for A Marne Mind: A Soldiers War with Recovery on facebook to become a part of the Marne Mind Mission of raising awareness about PTSD and recovery. 5% of all proceeds will be donated to Operation Resilient Warrior, a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping soldiers and their families. For more information about ORW visit www.operationresilientwarrior.org.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449737511

Cy Mulholland

Cy Mulholland is an armored crewman (tanker) in the United States Army. He has served for thirteen years and deployed five times, three of which were combat tours. He resides at Fort Knox, Kentucky where his goal is to raise awareness of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and recovery. 

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Contents

Chapter One Battlefield Mind

Chapter Two Enemy Anger

Chapter Three The Addiction Disposition

Chapter Four Mind Field

Chapter Five Suppressed Fires

Chapter Six Outlook Optimistic

Chapter Seven Objective Saint

Chapter Eight Family Frame Of Mind

Chapter Nine Recovery And Routine

Chapter Ten The Guardian

PREFACE

I was a member of the 3rd Infantry Division (Mechanized) for the first ten years of my Army career: also known as the Marne Division. The 3ID earned its nickname in the First World War following the Second Battle of the Marne, which was a major turning point in the conflict. The battle began with the last German offensive and ended with the first allied offensive, which began at the Marne River in France in the year 1918. That is why, to this day, the 3rd Infantry Division Motto is Rock of the Marne.

I am glad to have served in the 3rd Infantry Division, and I am very pleased that PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is drawing more and more attention all the time. There is a growing public interest and, because of this, it is becoming more possible and effective for those who are still suffering and those who are in need of skills that will assist them in sustaining and maintaining recovery to receive the help they need.

A Marne Mind began as a coping skill for me: a therapeutic means of allowing myself to put my thoughts and emotions down on paper, as I struggled mentally with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Before it was A Marne Mind it was only poetry that I began writing while receiving treatment for PTSD, which I had developed early on during my childhood. My PTSD symptoms became more severe as an adult, due to multiple overseas deployments while serving in the United States Army. During my treatment, at about the two and a half year mark, I met a gentleman named Rich: a Vietnam Veteran who introduced me to the idea of writing poetry. Once I began writing, I never looked back.

Initially, I had no aspirations of writing a book, and even after sharing some of my poetry and being told by others that I had talent for writing and that I should consider writing a book, I still never imagined it would be possible. It wasn’t until I had written somewhere around twenty to thirty poems that I thought were decent that I began thinking I might actually be able to put something together and call it a book. The more I wrote, the better I seemed to feel. I discovered that I was making leaps and bounds in my recovery and most of my success was due to my spiritual reconnection and my ability to see how I truly felt about the things that were going on in my mind when they were directly in front of me, on paper, where I could read and process them whenever I wanted. Writing gave me the ability to sift through bad memories and figure out a more positive way to deal with them. I learned that by doing this, I was able to open up and talk about the things I had experienced in a much more positive manner. After making a great deal of progress, I was able to effectively begin my journey back to my roots: my Christian upbringing.

It was then that I realized what kind of book I was actually called to write. A Marne Mind is a book of repetition and growth, because it is my experience that the more I see something, the more I will become familiar with it and the more I will act on it. It is my hope that it can do the same thing for someone else struggling with PTSD. Too often, we see too much negativity, whereas this book draws something positive from something negative. The chapter titles coincide with the poetry, and much of my poetry is a reflection of who I was and who I am today because of my success with recovery. A Marne Mind is probably different from what most people typically read; however, in this book are the things that have worked for me and how my mind operates.

There are two sides to every war, and therefore there are two sides to the war that goes on inside the soldier or any other militant or civilian who has experienced a traumatic event. In a different aspect, there are two sides to recovery until eventually victory is achieved by learning and acquiring the skills necessary to be successful in recovery and getting as close to a normal life as possible. Throughout the contents of this book, it will be made clear that the poetry reflects my real thoughts of the things I have experienced from my darkest times, as well as my hopes for the future, while the narratives shine light on the details of my experiences and explain my growth and views on my personal recovery as a Christian. I know the details of this journey will be beneficial to anyone.

As you read through the contents of this book, you will be able to see that, as I grew more successful with recovery, the poetry developed from a dark and worldly view into motivational and influential poetry. These join the narratives to become a combined positive outlook. I hope anyone who reads this book will find something helpful in it for his or her life: something that will help in the journey that is recovery. It sure helped me. I hope and pray the war within will be won for those still fighting.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I will be forever grateful to GOD for his patience and love and for putting His Son and people, places, and things in my life to help me in my journey toward recovery: particularly, my Lord and Savior JESUS CHRIST. I am grateful for the opportunity to be counted among His children and the multitude of answered prayers which have only strengthened my faith. I appreciate the fact that many of the prayers have been answered in very obvious ways, further proving His existence. Thank You, JESUS, for taking human form and dying on the cross for all mankind’s sins. Thank You for Your HOLY SPIRIT. I love You and I will forever remain in communication with You, through prayer.

I want to thank my wife. I am grateful that GOD blessed me with such a beautiful, loving, selfless and strong-willed woman. She is my best friend and I don’t know where I would be without her in my life. She is my soul-mate and I know with all my heart and soul that we were destined to be together by GOD Himself. She truly has stuck by my side through thick and thin, the good times and the bad and the terrible. She is a strong woman and the only one I know that can put up with me in my worst times. Our marriage survived five overseas deployments, along with various other training exercises. Our marriage has survived all of the many negative aspects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I look forward to spending the rest of this life with her. She is a great mother and the Lord has blessed us with three awesome children, who I love with all my heart and soul, and I am eternally grateful for them as well.

I want to thank my dad, Rodney Mulholland, who has always been there for me. He is the primary influence, second only to JESUS CHRIST, in shaping me into the man I am today. He has always been there to give me advice when I needed it. Many times, he was the only one who could help me get my feet on the ground when I was drifting off course. He showed me the importance of family and instilled in me the same values and morals which had been taught to him. He taught me manners and respect and what it means for a man to love his family. He gave me guidance and was the first one to introduce the idea of resilience to me. I am grateful for my mom, Gayla Mulholland. She is a good example of what it is to be a woman who stands by her husband, as well as a loving mother.

I would like to thank my in-laws, Scott and Diana Mortensen. They have always been there for my wife and I and our children, and without them I wouldn’t have my wife or our children. I would like to thank Pastor Gregg Curtis of Stithton Baptist Church, who has been there for my spiritual guidance. He helped me better understand GOD’s plan and taught me a great deal about the Bible. I would like to thank Dr. Andrews for listening and helping me better understand and figure out what was going on within me. He helped me get back to a proper frame of mind. I would like to thank my friend Rich for his service in Vietnam and also for introducing me to the most effective coping skill I have: writing poetry. I would like to thank Christy Faulkner and Kat Forader of Operation Resilient Warrior for all their kind support and all they do for soldiers and soldier’s families. I would like to give an extra special thank you to Elizabeth Boylan for her help and amazing hard work editing this book.

I want to thank the thousands of service men and women and their families who have sacrificed so much in the name of freedom, both in the United States of America and abroad. I will remain forever mindful of the thousands of innocent lives lost on 9/11 and their families. I would like to especially thank those with whom I served in the 3rd Infantry Division. The men and women of the Marne Division are a large part of me having the ability to come home to my family. I will never forget those who made the ultimate sacrifice. I will never forget.

In Loving Memory

of

SSG David Julian

and the many

Men and Women

of the

Marne Division

who

Sacrificed Everything

in

Defense of Freedom.

CHAPTER ONE

BATTLEFIELD MIND

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So much is captured on the battlefield by the mind and brought home to the battlefield in the mind.

I REMEMBER

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I remember the day SGT Lamie died. It hurt my heart. It hurt me deep inside.

Then I remember the day I rode up that Baghdad Hill.

The sound of my coax was quite a thrill.

It was 2003. Sometime in March, I think.

The smell of a cooked corpse frozen in place didn’t even stink.

I saw a man in a crowd holding a rifle.

I was so excited, but I didn’t smile.

Arroyo yelled, Fire without delay and with an On the way I began to spray.

Never again would they pray on a rug, ‘cause with my help they gave the pavement a hug.

I remember the day SSG Julian died.

Just before we left, he made Erin his bride.

They had a daughter together. He met her on leave.

Then he returned to Baghdad, but only to bleed.

A man with a vest laid him to rest.

I will always miss you, Dave. You were one of the best.

Then I remember rolling down those city streets.

With seventy tons of steel, I felt I couldn’t be beat.

All of a sudden, out came a little white truck

With a pathetic mounted machine gun that had to suck.

As soon as they saw me, they dismounted and ran.

Then I put a heat round in that piece of shit can.

By that time, the three dismounts had jumped a tiny wall.

They didn’t get far. My rounds helped them fall.

I remember the day SSG Cimmarusti died.

You were one funny Mexican, so full of pride.

We deployed many places together. It was one wild ride.

The day you lost your life changed something inside me.

I lost something too. I lost the old me.

I miss the times we used to cut up and laugh.

I will always remember the good times from the past.

I remember the day we assaulted that hotel.

We killed many. We sent them all to hell.

I remember the day SPC Gudino died.

It was Christmas day when your tank was fried.

That EFP that you never did see cut right through you and set you free.

I watched for hours as your tank burned to the ground.

The radio was loud, but I couldn’t hear a sound.

Your crew got out and I knew you were still in there.

You were the best soldier I knew. How was this fair?

What was once your driver’s hull was now your tomb.

It won’t be long, brother. I will see you soon.

Christmas will never be the same and I’m trying to change.

I will remember the good time we all shared down range.

I’ve been a soldier for twelve years now. Where’d the time go?

The only way I can remember, the only way I can show

Is to remember my brothers, those who stay and those who go.

For some reason, by the grace of GOD, I’m still here.

And I’ve finally decided not to drown myself in beer.

For if I am one chosen to carry your memory through.

Then I must strive to live more like you.

The LORD, our GOD took you because it was time.

And I believe it’s through the SPIRIT I came up with this rhyme.

I love all my brothers. I will never forget.

I will always remember. I will never regret.

I will be a better man for my wife and my kids.

‘Cause while you were on this earth, that’s what you did.

I’m here for some reason. I’m here for some purpose.

I must get rid of the guilt. Bring it all to the surface.

No matter the position. No matter the test.

You, my brothers, were man enough to ride the Marne Express.

And so this is my promise. I will live without regret.

I will always remember. I will never forget.

I   deployed to Iraq three times throughout my Army Career. We, the 3rd Infantry Division, crossed the Kuwait border and invaded Iraq in 2003. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew it was going to get messy. I returned to Iraq in 2005 for a year and again in 2007 for a fifteen-month tour. I prayed every day for my wife and kids back home and prayed that God would let me return to them.

Of course, I prayed for their well-being much more than my own. There was a helpless feeling I kept with me all the time when I was away from them. It was the feeling that I had no influence over their daily life and that I could not protect them. I couldn’t stand the thought that I might not make it home to them and that my kids would never fully understand the sacrifices that have to be made in order to keep this great country that we live in free. Many people I knew made such sacrifices. Some of them were just soldiers I would see in passing, or maybe worked with at some point in time in the motor pool or during a training exercise. Others were drinking buddies, or drinking associates, as I call them, that I would hang out with from time to time. And then some, a few, were close friends of mine: The type of people I could count on.

There was one noncommissioned officer, a staff sergeant named David Julian, who was killed in action during my third and final tour in Iraq. He was my friend. He was a natural born leader and I looked up to him. We were both from Wyoming and we had plans of returning there to work and raise our families. I lost other close friends to the war, both when I was deployed with them and when I was not. Every time a soldier that I know lost his life, I lost another piece of myself. I will never forget the ultimate sacrifice that my brothers and sisters have made.

Every time I went to Iraq, I kept a copy of Psalm 91 in my breast pocket. It gave me strength to carry on. It strengthens me to this day, but little did I know during my days in combat that I would bring the war home with me.

However, my struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder began long before the war. From as far back as I can remember, the hardest thing for me to endure has always been losing those I love and care about. I will refer to this several times, as I will the fact that I am a man of repetition, both in the wrong and in the good that I have done. It will be stated within the context of this book why, even as a child, I was set up for failure by someone who I loved dearly: I will explain the immense impact my brother’s suicide had on my young and impressionable mind.

Looking back and pondering what I experienced as a child, I find comfort in what God tells us in His Word about taking care of the children. Even though some feel the burdens of this world and the pain they’ve experienced mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually is too much to cope with, they do not have the right to harm themselves or the children in their lives, as my older brother did when I was a child. Some who have attempted suicide and lived through it, such as a few who have jumped off of the Golden Gate Bridge, stated that as soon as they jumped, they changed their mind and tried to reach back and grab on to something, but it was too late. It’s amazing how lives can be changed in a matter of seconds, minutes, hours, or days.

Lord, help me to remember that you have a plan for my life and always, Lord, I pray that Your will be done. In JESUS’ name I pray. Amen

21 DAYS

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Open desert for miles.

Hard faces. No smiles.

Down range, I see four black and white tiles.

My bore site is tight. The firing line is ready.

The Black Knights are now prepared to rock steady.

Crossing the border, the Patriots have our back;

Forming a wedge begins the attack.

Miles are traveled before any contact.

This is the place where heroes will be made

For the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Nasiriya, Najaf, Karbala, Highway nine.

Twenty-one days is a mighty long time.

Five hundred or more to Objective Saints.

None of these boys will ever be the same.

Sixty-four will bring the thunder and many will run.

This is a war that will never be won.

More blood flows in Baghdad than water in canals.

That city is the place where I lost many pals.

Twenty-one days in a smoky haze: so much death, in so many ways.

I knew at the time this was only one phase, but the war changed my life in twenty—one days.

After Operation Desert Spring in 2002, and somewhere around fifty-four days of leave back home and seeing my second child born, I found myself back in the Kuwaiti desert. We were preparing for war. We had been in the desert for seven months, preparing for the war that was to come prior to going back home for a short stay.

It would be more than seven months from that point before I would have the chance to see my family again, if I survived. Nonetheless, there I was with my crew, preparing our tank for battle.

I was the gunner on a M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tank. It weighed more than seventy tons with a combat load. It had a 120mm main gun, a 7.62mm coaxial machine gun, a .50 caliber machine gun for the commander’s weapon station, and another 7.62mm machine gun for the loaders hatch. It only knew how to do one thing. Kill. Friend or foe, it didn’t matter, and as long as any potential crew member kept that in mind, any potential crew member could most likely make the machine work for him. The rest of my crew consisted of a middle-aged Puerto Rican man who fought in the Gulf War and two brand new soldiers straight out of basic training. I remember thinking it felt good to have combat experience on the crew, but Lord have mercy, two brand new trainees to train in such little time. Long story short: they ended up being pretty good tankers.

We had a solid crew and a solid platoon. We were the Bravo Company Black Knights from the 1st of the 64th Armor Regiment. We were Desert Rouges and we were attached to Baker Company 1-15 Infantry out of Fort Benning, Georgia. We were normally a part of 2nd Brigade out of Fort Stewart, Georgia, where the majority of the 3rd Infantry Division is based. We traveled hundreds of bloody, war torn miles to Baghdad over the course of twenty-one days.

We were, and always will be Marne Soldiers. Many lost their lives and those who didn’t lost part of who they were prior to the war.

Lord, let me never forget where I’ve been and where I’m going. Let me always seek your will and your purpose for my life. In JESUS’ name I pray. Amen

I Killed Me

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Honestly, most definitely, what I tell you is true.

I’ve killed more than one, more than two, more than a few.

What you might not know, but it’s a fact, is that I’m dead too.

Every time I took something, I lost something.

Every time I lost someone, I felt done.

Oftentimes, I wonder why I wasn’t the one.

Most often, I feel life is no longer fun.

Most days, I feel like I’m coming undone.

Maybe this war within me is one that won’t be won.

I refuse to end this trip with a gun.

O.M.G. this is me, instituted, no longer free.

It seems this is the way it’s s always going to be.

Smiling on the outside, but dead on the inside.

Listen to me, carney; I want off of this ride.

Me, myself and I can no longer coincide.

I tried to cope. I mean it, I tried. No matter what I do, my mind feels fried.

I’ve killed more than one, more than two, more than a few.

I tried to take myself out by drinking too much brew.

I’m a dead man walking, but I’m still talking.

In my mind, it’s me that I’m still stalking.

I need to sit down, I can barely stand.

Internally I killed me, with my own two hands.

Combat stress is a stress that is all its own. There are other forms of trauma out there that are very extreme, but I have personally felt the brunt of combat. I remember being in the combat zone and at the time, I was so tuned into what was going on. I was in my element. It’s who I was. I was constantly receiving orders from my leaders and providing purpose, direction and motivation to the noncommissioned officers and soldiers that were under me. In the combat zone, I was always keyed up and ready to react to whatever came our way. I was poised under pressure, and when things got real intense, I was able to keep my guys level-headed. This was all true for the most part, but by the time I had deployed to Iraq for the third time, Baghdad and its stressors had caught up to me and it began to show.

We were a little more than half way done with our tour. We were operating in a Sunni town called Aadimiya in Baghdad. My crew and I had been hit six times by various weapon systems and I had lost several of my close friends. My mental state was getting worse all the time, and I began spending part of my time while out on missions looking for alcohol to purchase from the locals. They were more than happy to oblige.

At the same time, I began to be harder on my soldiers and was very short-tempered. I had a short fuse and I would ride them very hard for simple mistakes. It wasn’t long before the crew that once had been so loyal and looked to their tank commander for solid leadership felt they had no choice but to report me to command. So that’s what they did. I was relieved of my duties as a tank commander and a section sergeant: A job that I loved so much, but was no longer capable of doing to the best of my ability because the war had taken its toll on me.

Besides missing my wife and kids back home, the only thing I could think about was the fact that my friends were not coming back. They were gone forever. I would think about the good times, but I would focus on the fact that we wouldn’t have any more good times. Some of them I had known for years and we had deployed many places together. With others, I had lifelong plans of staying in touch. So many of those guys had wives and children that they were forced to leave behind. While trying to process all of these things, I would let myself get down and depressed, and when I made it back home, my own family would suffer the consequences. It wasn’t until I got help with my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and alcoholism that I learned positive ways to cope. I will always miss those guys, those brothers, but I can’t allow it to be my undoing. I must honor them by living a fulfilling, worthwhile life. There are certain times of the year that are harder than others, but I cope. I will never forget.

Lord, grant me the strength to honor my brothers by celebrating their lives and not living a life of grief. In JESUS’ name I pray. Amen

Have You?

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Have you ever seen a head explode?

Have you ever seen a fresh off the fifty-cal one legged man hop across the road?

Have you destroyed a house, not fully knowing what’s inside?

Have you put two in his chest when he’s trying to hide?

Have you kicked in someone’s door and slammed him on his face?

Have you trashed his entire house because there’s no time to waste?

Have you zip-tied a man in front of his wife and kids?

Have you done what you had to do? That’s what we did.

Have you accepted that some were at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Have you ever felt that it was a crime?

Have you seen the enemy stand there and seconds later, nothing’s left?

Have you been the one that put a main gun round in his chest?

Have you felt like taking life was the decision that was best?

Have you felt that it was ok to send those souls to their unrest?

Have you aimed to kill while looking down your sight?

Have you lost five friends when a vest ignites? Have you killed ten others trying to make it right?

Have you laughed and cried at the same time?

Have you imprisoned a man’s brother because he dropped the dime?

Have you chased the enemy with rounds from your gun?

Have you felt badly for it? Have you felt that it was fun?

Have you sacrificed anything? Have you had to lose?

Have you served your country or watched it on the news?

Oftentimes, I’ve had mixed emotions about the things I’ve seen and done in combat. At times, I felt one way about certain things and then felt another way about it. There have been times when I have felt guilt over some of the things I’ve done that I had to put to rest. It took a long time for me to make peace with myself over a few instances I experienced. I had to come to terms with some of the engagements I had participated in and that wasn’t easy, but today I have peace.

I didn’t feel guilt because I committed any crimes. I felt it because I had taken life, and I have a conscience and I’m not an evil person. For me, for a long time, it wasn’t a matter of it being ok, because soldiers to my left and right were being killed by the enemy. It was the What Ifs that gave me so many issues. I believe these What Ifs contributed to my flash-backs and nightmares and made me so angry and hard and irritable most of the time. What if a house or a building that I engaged with a 120mm heat round had more than just the enemy inside? What if enemy combatant vehicles such as trucks and SUVs contained more than just insurgent forces in them? What if I killed someone innocent on the battle field that was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

These are things I used to beat myself up over. And that was wrong of me to do to myself. For years, my wife and my dad and others tried to tell me that I shouldn’t hold that against myself, but at the time my thought was, You can’t tell someone who has been there what to think about it. But they were right. It just was not that easy to shut it off. I didn’t know how to leave the war on the battle field in Iraq, until I got help.

I’m glad to see that PTSD has become more recognized for how serious it is today. Many soldiers are getting the help they need, because there are more resources available. For ten years and five deployments with the 3rd Infantry Division—three of those tours being to Iraq—I went without any treatment for my issues. I came to Fort Knox and finally began getting the help I need. My recommendation to anyone that has ever deployed to a combat zone would be to get checked out by a professional at a minimum, to see where that person might stand after experiencing combat stress. It took me a long time to realize that I had issues, but I’m glad I got help. I’m a better man because of it today. There are men and women out there, military and civilian, that really care about our well-being and want to help. No one should be too proud to ask for help and no one should hold back from talking to others if they seem to be suffering. Someone’s life or the lives of his or her family members could depend on it. No problem is too big to find a solution for. For our own sakes and for the sakes of those who love us, we must try until the problem is identified.

Lord, bless and comfort those men and women who have stood and fought or supported those who fought and experienced traumatic events in the name of freedom and their families. In JESUS’ name I pray. Amen

Identified

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Identified, I got ‘em. Identified, I caught ‘em.

Gunner, coax, troops and identified, I shot ‘em.

Identified, fire is the order. Over and over, like a recorder.

It’s easier, I figure, to go ahead and pull the trigger.

By the way, on the way, and that is how I ruined their day.

Identified, a body falls. A man with no legs only crawls.

A man with one leg is ok to hop. The bleeding will stop—another body will drop.

Identified, they tried to hide. It’s already known that you are inside.

A sabot round and your tank is fried.

Identified, you tried to run.

The flight of the round has already begun.

Identified, an ammo truck. Up in smoke: that had to suck.

Superior equipment or your bad luck?

Identified, a technical through my spectacles.

You are suspect, I am skeptical.

You run away—I burned your truck today.

I followed you up with a killing spray.

Identified, it is a hotel.

Full of instant death winners who win a trip to hell.

Identified, again and again. Some are warranted and some are sin.

If I were asked if I’d do it again? I’d tell you, damn right I would, my friend.

As I mentioned, after the invasion, I struggled for a long time with guilt and regret. I didn’t have survivor guilt, but I still felt a guilt that ate away at me every day. I felt so much regret for some of the things I had to do in combat. I thought the only way to cope with the pain was to drink alcohol, but drinking only made things worse. The things I had going on in my mind and in the depths of my soul were tearing me apart.

During the invasion, I was a tank gunner on a M1A1. From time to time, throughout the next few years after the invasion, even after my other tours to Iraq, I would see my old tank commander and I would ask him if we’d done the right thing. We would have a conversation and he always reassured me that we had indeed done the right thing. I would nod my head, as if I had been convinced and felt some sort of relief, but I didn’t feel any better. I continued to try and drink the pain under the table, but the pain always beat me down.

My